


The Fastest You Can Run (on hold)

by youreagalaxy



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner RPF, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Gore, M/M, Smut, Some Fluff, The Maze Runner - Freeform, Thomas - Freeform, Violence, based on a novel, decided to move it here, mainly sexual tension, minho - Freeform, my own version, original story but not original characters, relationship, started this on wattpad, thominho - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreagalaxy/pseuds/youreagalaxy
Summary: Trapped in an underground bunker, Thomas wakes up cold and helpless; with no memory of the outside world.What happens when he get involved with the only people that can leave?
Relationships: Minho & Thomas (Maze Runner), Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Everything unknown

Cold.

That was the first word that came to mind, why was it so cold? It was the first thing he had felt in a while. In fact, he has a hard time remembering what he last felt. Had he even felt before?

It's wet, why? Was this something he was really experiencing? Is this really happening? It was too dark. He felt himself shudder, or maybe he wasn't. He didn't know what it felt like to feel. He knew he needed to move; feel something.

Suddenly, as if struck by lightning, he felt himself lurch forward, his senses coming to him all too quickly. His heart seemed to beat painfully in his chest, his eyes popping open but only seeing white, he clenched them back shut. There was a ringing in his ears so strong his head seemed to scream in agony, he grit his teeth together in response.

He felt so numb, other than some pressure underneath him, which made him think he was sitting on something. He opened his mouth to lick his chapped lips, but to no avail. His tongue felt like sandpaper. He lowered his hands from his ears; where he didn't even realize they had shot up to cover them from the ringing. Slowly, the world around him was fading back, light grays and blues, black and brown, and was it, white lights?

He dropped his chin to his chest, and felt his eyes flutter as his body gave way to gravity. He dropped back onto his back, feeling his head hit something soft. He let it fall to the side, finally realizing he had lungs, and could in-fact breathe, he took quick, sharp inhales followed by choking coughs. One he recollected himself, he stared at a stone wall, slowly letting his eyes trail along, looking at the interior of some room he seemed to end up in. There were papers, rags, and what seemed to be a sheet on the ground below him. Below him?

He opened and closed his hands, feeling the somewhat soft material beneath his fingertips. Everything felt so foreign, so strange. It's as if he had just been born, with no knowledge of how he ended up here or what was happening to him. At least he was feeling something again.

"He's totally out of it."

"Poor shank looks like a zombie."

"Should we..."

Whatever voices he was hearing faded away by the ringing returning to his ears. He turned his head to the ceiling above him, his vision, albeit blurry, recognizing a white light dangling above. It illuminated the small room, who put it there? who put him there?

He sits up again, slower this time, and not all the way. On his elbows, he tries to focus on what's in front of him, or rather who's in front of him.

Three people, who knows if they're good or bad. He doesn't feel any restraints on him, so he must not be imprisoned in any way.

Why am I so wet?

He looks around, feels everything, his clothes on him are stuck to his cold body, the floor has a puddle around the bed he lays on. The sheets and the mattress are soaked. Did they throw water on him?

He wants to talk, ask all the questions floating in his head. He can hear the voices of the people in front of him talking but its like they are muffled. He lays his head back down gently, heaving out a sigh; realizing his mouth had been hanging open this entire time, he closes it.

For a moment, there is peace as he is tuned out from the world, quite literally. Everything is cold and wet, his teeth chatter slightly. His brow furrows as he thinks, the feeling all over his body pretty much returned by now.

Thomas. That's my name, at least I remember that...

Wait. Where the hell am I? Who are those people?

As if the earlier events repeat, he shoots back up again, facing his... capturers, enemies? They stare back like he's a ghost; like they don't know what to do. He probably shares their expression, clueless himself.

He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a cough, one of them seems to snap out of the trance, and pushes past the other two. They grab something off of the table beside the bed Thomas lay on. He turns and looks to.. her.

She's got fair skin, scared eyes; blue. Black hair tied up in a knot. She tries to hand him a cup, it's filled with water. Thomas is cautious, he doesn't know who she is, what could be in it. He sits up more, his legs bent in and takes the plastic cup. She steps back a little,

"We aren't going to hurt you. I'm Teresa."

Thomas looks to the other two standing by the door. They nod along and don't look as unsure about his presence anymore. Thomas holds the cup and feels his grip tighten, he can feel the fear settling in, the intensity of the situation starts to really settle in him.

He looks back at Teresa, a drop of water from his hair falls into the cup she gave him. Noticing he's not brought it near his lips yet, he gives in and takes a gulp. It's cool, and quenches his dry throat and mouth. He wipes his mouth with his hand, and sets the cup down beside him.

He takes a moment to look around his room he is in, no windows, and stone walls. Other than the light above him, a monitor beside his bed is the only thing that illuminates the room. The door, open and leading to a corridor, has a metal grate on the small window. There is an industrial lock, which he assumes is unlocked by some sort of code or fingerprint. On the floor lay the same things he saw earlier, but now it was all a bit more clear to him. The rags seemed to be stained with a pale-yellowish color. The papers had too small of writing for him to be able to read. They look mostly important, but probably aren't anymore because they are completely soaked.

This still puzzles Thomas, he turns to the two boys standing in the doorway. They are dressed in normal clothes, Teresa, as well. One wears brown pants and nice work boots, loose fitting dark shirt. The other wears a worn white shirt, that fits tightly on him. His pants are dark and match that dark combat boots on his feet. They look like they've gotten to the end of a long day. Thomas finds himself sitting there with a little more ease.

Just as he goes to question them all, another boy walks in; his presence interrupts whatever would have been said.

He's got dark skin, no hair, and nice round eyes. He looks a bit more older, a bit more important. His look is serious, but surprised as he eyes Thomas on the bed.

"Well, I see he's made some progress."

Teresa answers, "He just woke up, his body is still at a severely low temperature." She pauses, "He's a little... sluggish to say the least."

The boy in the dark shirt, and long blonde hair speaks up, a playful smile on his face,"Bugger looks like a corpse."

The first guy that talked shoos him off, "We probably need to move him, this room is absolutely soaked." He enters the room and starts to walk towards the monitor beside Thomas' bed, "Need to get him a fresh pair of bottoms too."

Thomas watches the exchange go on, with teeth chattering he asks weakly, "Where am I?" He looks down at his pants, suddenly realizing he doesn't have a shirt on.

"You'll know soon enough." He briefly looks at Thomas, "I'm Alby." and continues tapping away on the monitor as he responds. He turns his head around, back to the door, "Newt, get him some clothes. Teresa, come with me."

They all obey him and do as they are told, leaving Thomas in the room alone, he tries to push out a "Wait" before they leave, but the door shuts and locks behind them.

Newt, Alby, Teresa. What about the other guy?

Thomas, growing more and more uncomfortable where he sat, in his soaked mattress, swings his legs over the side of the bed. He looks down at his lap, hisfingers gripping the edge of the bed tightly. It was pretty high up, resembled a hospital bed. He screws his eyes shut, trying to remember anything he could. The people he just saw didn't seem too unfamiliar with him. Did he know them? How did they get him? Can he trust them?

He opens his eyes, not being able to find anything in his head, it had never felt so empty, (as far as he knew.) He points his toes, and slowly slides off of the bed, his bare feet touching the cold, stone floor. Theres a small puddle he lands in, collecting drips from him as his head hangs over it. His muscles, not having been used in what seems a while, are unable to hold his weight up properly the first time, and he grips the metal rails attached to the bed, crumbling on himself, and struggles to pull himself back up to sit back on the edge.

In his struggle, he hears the slight beeping of the door and Newt, he supposes, comes into the room. He sees Thomas and rushes over slightly,

"Hey hey, what are you doing, you're not quite ready for all that." He let's out a small, nervous chuckle. He grabs him underneath the armpits, "Bloody hell," he grunts, pulling the weak, wet, boy up and onto the bed.

Thomas sits up, after regaining some balance and strength. Newt looks at him and grimaces, "My god you look horrible."

Thomas chatters his teeth in response, his body extremely cold. He doesn't know what to say, too cold and weak to interrogate the boy in front of him.

"I've got you some clothes to change into, and we've got to get you outta here, you've made quite the mess." Newt explains, and goes back to the door, rolling a wheelchair up to the side of Thomas' bed, in it lies a fresh set of clothes. Dry, and clean. Mostly.

Thomas looks at Newt in pure desperation, he wants to beg him to get him out of there, and get warm. He nods in agreement to Newt, who wraps an arm around his middle, cautiously, hoping to not frighten Thomas with his touch.

Once he's in the chair, Newt starts to wheel him out of the room, the wheels leaving wet stripes all along the floor from the puddle it sat in while Thomas was being put into it. Thomas' toes tingle, they're so numb from the cold.

Leaving the room, Thomas takes in his surroundings. Theres two corridors, one to his left and one to the right, everything is made of stone. The lights down the hallway are white and rectangular. There's metal doors much like his own every once in a while, with the same little windows that have metal grates. It looks like he's in some sort of bunker, or underground facility. The corridors are quite small, and on each end there seems to be an entrance/exit to this area. But he wouldn't know really.

Newt chirps up, "You're not in a prison, if you're wondering. We're the good guys."

That answers a lot. He thinks.

They approach a new door, about two down from where his room was, its eerily quiet in this place, sending shivers down Thomas' already cold body. Newt punches in a code to a key-tab. And it dings open. Seems like a prison cell if he's seen one. (He hasn't)

They go in, and the room is just like the old, things are rearranged, the bed against the wall instead of in the middle. The floor isn't covered in water, papers and rags either. It's clean, dry, and not so damn cold.

"Im gonna leave these here for you," Newt says, stopping Thomas in the center of the room, placing the clothes on the bed, "And here's a towel," He hands him a brown, fluffy towel, "Dry yourself off, you're not going to be very comfortable for now I'm afraid." Thomas could laugh at that, "I want you to be able to dress yourself though, however long that may take you." He stands by the bed with his arms crossed across his chest. He's really tall.

"I know its a bit overwhelming, and trust me, you're questions will be answered. I'm gonna come back in about an hour, but right now it's best if you stay here, and get your body back to normal."

Thomas shakes his head a little, "Normal, why is my body not normal? Why am I so-"

Newt interrupts, "Like I said, everything will be answered. I know its hard. Just..."

He trails off, Thomas is too exhausted to fight, too cold and wet and uncomfortable. He looks away.

"I'll be back. Get changed, and dry. Don't worry, you're safe."

Thomas finds it hard to believe, and refuses to watch him as he leaves the room. He wants to cry, scream, anything. It's all so confusing, it's so cold, it's so wet.

He looks at the dry bed in front of him. Realizing he needs to give in, and not fight it. He accepts his fate and decides to do his best to get into the bed, and sleep if anything. He feels exhausted, although it feels like he just woke up. He puts his hands on the sides of the wheelchair, and pushes himself up, realizing he probably cant walk to the bed, but he's not too far, he sets his feet in place and pushes his body forward, toppling over and managing to grab the end of the bed. He breathes out, gripping the mattress and the sheets with shaky hands, his teeth chattering and his bare chest meeting clean, dry sheets. He heaves himself up, and collapses onto the bed.

Almost instantly, he lays his head near the end of the bed and pulls his legs up, getting slightly in the fetus position. He probably looks pathetic to anyone else, but for now, he can't be bothered by anything. Seeing as he probably cannot escape, and he's physically too weak to even try, he closes his eyes, and falls into a deep sleep.


	2. New world

He wakes up with a sharp intake of breath, looking at the direction of the sound he hears, his heart pounding in his ears as he shudders. At the door stands Newt, he looks neutral, his arms are crossed. He's staring at Thomas with a somewhat blank expression.

"Hey, it's been about an hour...", he looks Thomas up and down, his eyebrows furrow, "You didn't change." He sounds slightly disappointed, more surprised.

Thomas looks down at himself too, then glances at the still folded and fresh pile of clothes that sits on the table beside the bed. Newt's hands fall to his side "I mean, you got in the bed but didn't change, that kind of defeats the purpose of a new bed." He walks into the room to be beside Thomas and touches the soft, cheap fabric of the mattress. "Now it's all wet."

Thomas, feeling the need to defend himself from this stranger, finally speaks, "Sorry, I was tired."

"Ah, so he speaks."

He furrows his eyebrows at Newt, who chuckles in disbelief. He does speak, but it's only been questions so far. The blonde begins to walk back to the door, pausing at the entryway, "Get dressed, you'll scare everybody else if you go out like that."

Thomas looks down at himself again as Newt leaves the room, closing the metal door behind him with an echo. He holds his hands out in front of him, his veins a bit more colorful than usual. His skin is pale, feet bare and frigid. He tentatively places them on the floor, testing his weight. Deciding it wouldn't hurt to begin walking, he staggers to the pile of clothes left on a table beside the creaky bed.

-

A couple of minutes later he approaches the door, twisting the handle, but to no avail. His heartbeat quickens and fear strikes him suddenly. Is he locked in here? But not a moment later a face appears in the glass window, feeling his cheeks flush at the overreaction, he breathes out as his gaze meets the top of a head, hears the sounds of beeping, and finally the door opens.

"You're looking better already," Newt, accompanied by Teresa, after eyeing him up and down, tilted his head to the corridor. "C'mon."

Teresa looks at him for a brief moment, offering a small smile. Thomas' expression doesn't change, and he weakly walks behind the two of them, his muscles still shot from... whatever he had been through. The lights above them flicker slightly, and the sound of boots walking along the stone floor fill the hallways. Newt and Teresa talk quietly among themselves, and Thomas takes a moment to think.

Everything has been so sudden, too quick for him to properly think. Who the actual hell are these people, why is he obeying their every order? What have they done to him, he doesn't see any bruises, scratches or marks, but why did he wake up the way he did? His walking slows down and he slightly falls behind. The thoughts in his head are overwhelming and get him to thinking too much.

Teresa notices, and turns around, Newt copying her actions and looking for the source, eyes landing on Thomas, who has come to a full stop at this point. Teresa beckons him to her, "Hey, are you okay?" The new, strange boy's face pales, and he stands motionless in the hallway.

'Is he okay,' what a dumb question it seems like. He doesn't respond, doesn't even look up at her, and at this Newt steps closer. Causing the opposite on Thomas' end. Newt stops, and Thomas sucks in a breath, his words sit on the tip of his tongue. The air around them is still, and nobody makes any further movement. Teresa looks at Newt, her eyebrows raising as if saying, 'Say something... do something!'

Newt looks at Thomas, who is now looking at the floor. "I've seen that look before man. I know," Newt begins, he talks in a quieter tone, trying to avoid upsetting Thomas. Newt doesn't want to cause a negative reaction in the scared boy in front of him. He wants to order him to do what he says, knowing they're so close to getting to the main room to Alby. But he can't what if he got violent? He speak up again, "This is all new to you and scary, but I can promise you we're okay, we're not going to do you any harm."

He reassures his words with hand motions, hoping to settle Thomas down. Thomas looks out in front of him, eyes glazed and his lips parted. Newt tries his best to retain a calm posture and look, he offers Thomas his hand, motioning him towards Teresa and himself. He sees Thomas swallow hard, he looks behind him, as if weighing his options. But turns back to Newt,

"I just don't know where I am, I dont know who you are, I don't..." he trails off, he tries to find an answer, tries to find something to reassure himself. 'what is happening?' why has he suddenly become to doubtful, why are his thoughts betraying themselves.

Thomas walks backwards, farther from Newt, footsteps slow and his posture is nervous, a part of him is screaming to turn the other way and run, as fast and as hard as he can. His blood is pumping, his breathing is erratic now.

Teresalooks to Newt for answers, and they both stand motionless. Thomas is moving farther and farther away with each passing second, Newt moves his hand to his radio, which of course, Thomas notices. Despite this, Newt presses a call button, and it makes a small 'blip' noise.

For Thomas, It's as if so much has changed in the past few hours. He woke up scared and in need of help, and like a switch, he's trying to get away. His mind and body are finally reacting the way he initially thought he would. Survive, that's what he needs to do, and he's not going to do that by becoming a prisoner. Sure they've not done anything to provoke this so far, but it is all probably part of their game.

Thomas furrows his brow, his breathing becoming heavier and rougher. He looks almost angry to Newt, and at this the blonde boy begins to speak but all Thomas can hear is

"Run, Run, Run"

He looks Teresa in the eyes, seeing her step forward, knowing what hes going to do, before quickly turning around abruptly and dashing down the hallway behind him as fast as his legs allow him, like a bullet.

He doesn't remember much, well really anything at all. But something tells him he used to survive, was athletic, could hold his own. He outruns Newt and Teresa easily, and nothing is going to stop him at this point. Not weak muscles, not a confused mental state. Thomas has one goal.

The sound of his feet pounding on the metal floor below him drowns out Newt yelling for him, his hair flies out of his face as he runs down the hallway he came, passing his room, his arms flying by his sides. His legs are on fire, his muscles haven't done anything like this in forever it seems. His shirt flapping against his chest, his legs carry him down the corridor, taking a right, a corridor, a left, more corridors.

He passes door after door, identical to his. He looks for one that seems to lead somewhere. But every turn is just another damn corridor. He can hear the pounding of Newt's feet not far behind him, and he doesn't stop. He needs to find an exit door, anything. He just needs to get out of here.

As he runs down a corridor that is slightly more lit up, someone in a white coat walks out of a room, he pushes past them, not taking one second to look back. He looks at the ceiling above, reading a white sign that glowed in the concrete and metal hallway.

It read "D:54"

Not knowing what that meant, (maybe the 54th corridor of the D floor? Or maybe "Down, 54 feet"?) He continues his journey, he faintly hears Newt paging someone on a radio, something about Thomas running.

He doesn't stop, he comes to the end of a hallway that splits in two directions. The corridor to his left is identical to every other hallway in this prison. The one to his right has a door that looks a bit different to every other door in this place. Exit, an exit door.

He could almost smile, knowing that this running wasn't for nothing. Newt yells at him, something incoherent in Thomas' ears. He doesn't give him a second thought, and takes the right, running to the door he spotted. His breathing is loud in his ears, he's grasping for any air to put in his lungs. How far had he really ran? It felt like 30 seconds honestly, but he knows it had to have been longer than that. Everything was just so fast to him, the adrenaline in him making time go faster than ever before.

On approaching the door, he hears another door open, it seems to be at the end of the corridor he went down, about 50-60 feet from himself. Ignoring everything around him, finally reaching the point of escape, he turns the handle, but to no avail.

It's locked. Of course it's locked.

He shakes the handle, panicking, feeling his grip tighten on the cold metal, his body pleading for it to open. Newt's getting closer, and whoever just opened the door to his far right is coming after him. In a panic, he looks into the door's window in front of him, what if this was an exit? What is outside?

His eyes are met with a small room, its covered in grated metal, illuminated by blue, and about 5 feet in front of the door he struggles to open, lies another door. With a keypad.

Thomas bangs on the glass with his fist, his vision becoming blurry, the exhaustion hitting him He lays his forehead on the door, he closes his eyes, his fist beside his head. The world seems to just stop, and he feels someone grip him from behind, grabbing his wrists and holding them behind his back. He's whipped to his left, meeting the hallway he just ran down. Newt stands in front of him, Teresa follows suit, both are out of breath, faces red and hair a mess. Thomas is sure he looks just the same, if not worse.

Newt's not the one holding him, this person has rough hands, big ones, strong grip. Really strong. He feels a foot hit the back of his knees, hard, and it knocks him to the floor, forcing his legs to give way. He tries to jerk out of the grip of this person behind him, but they're pinning him to the ground, hands behind his back and his body is trapped between a pair of strong, powerful legs. He's done, he's tired. There's no escape now.

Thomas feels his body keep fighting the grip of the person behind above him, his movements aren't his own, and his body takes control. The adrenaline in his body pushing through until the end. Throughout the being pinned down, he can hear the guy behind him talking to him, to Newt, and Teresa. Newt radioes someone, its all unintelligible in Thomas' ears.

He grits his teeth, doing his best to push the guy off of him. But he only pushes down harder on Thomas, causing him to grunt and become more filled with rage. He thinks Newt steps closer to him, but he only sees the side of the hallway, his right cheek pressed against the cold floor below him. His eyes, which were welled up with tears of anger and exhaustion, he closes shut. Yelling at someone, at something. And he feels the guy above him lower down to him.

His breathing is fast, probably from adrenaline, but nothing like Thomas' or Newts. He barely seems tired or exasperated in any way, he must be some kind of body guard or whatever. It must explain why he's so strong. He feels his breath tickle the back of his ear, and Thomas' heart rate gets faster as he speaks to him, his voice just above a whisper

"Just stop fighting it, I don't want to hurt you."

His voice is smooth, his teeth grit everytime Thomas tested his strength by moving beneath him. He's stunned by the guys voice. Its deep, not too deep, but it makes Thomas stop for a moment.

Admitting defeat, he lays beneath him, giving up, and his whole body shuts off. His body gives way to exhaustion, coming down from his energy high. He lays on the floor, and stops resisting. There's no point. There's no exit he can find anyways. The guy with the strong, (well... everything,) above him stops straddling his legs, he gets up, and Thomas feels his hands on his wrists pull him to his legs as well.

His legs feel shaken up, weak, and he is met with Newt, who now is bent over, hands on his knees. He laughs, standing up, throwing his head back and motioning to Thomas says,

"Well that's one way for introductions." He points to the guy behind Thomas, the one holding his wrists still, with a grip that wasn't as tight as before. Newt speaks,

"Thomas, that's Minho. Minho, as you know, Thomas."


	3. Welcome party

"You uhhh... gonna eat that?"

Thomas is snapped out of his daze, staring ahead at the plate of slop laid in front of him. He looks to the voice: a short, stout, curly headed boy stares with wide eyes. He is a lot younger than the rest, the youngest he's seen so far.

But, he hasn't seen many, and only introduced to some. He met Minho, who looked as strong as he felt. He had dark, slender eyes, and really, really muscular arms. It was him and Newt that escorted him to this dining hall, if you could even call it that. The place was covered in filth. Nothing that particularly bothered Thomas, but it surely was an eyesore.

It was filled with other kids, teenagers and many adults. He still was so unsure of what this place even was. An underground system? A huge bomb shelter?

"Hey, are you deaf? Or did they stick you with something?"

He returned his attention to the younger boy. Without a verbal response, he slid his tray of... 'food' down the table to him.

"Thanks, griever stew is a personal favorite of mine. Frypan is a genius in the kitchen" He immediately dug into the stew, "Have you met him?"

Thomas watches as he stuffs his face with the stuff, some dripping down his chin, "Met who again?"

"So you do talk," With a mouthful, he points to the counter where they're serving the meal. A guy with dark skin and a white cap on backwards shuffles around, refilling things and doing whatever it is his job is. "Frypan, the closest thing we have to a chef around here."

Thomas looks at this new guy, Frypan. He takes in his surroundings a bit more. Looking at other tables with groups of people sitting around them, smiling and having a good time. This little kid, chowing down on the meal that was once his. He crosses his arms and sets them on the table, with a tilt of his chin in the curly head's direction, he asks, "And what's your name?"

His eyes widen with a full mouth, bowl basically liked clean, "Oh! I'm Chuck. Sorry," he wipes his mouth with the back of his left hand, and shakes Thomas' with his right, "I'm kinda like the star of the show here, the leader. You could even call me captain if you'd like."

"I'd love to take you seriously, but you have soup all over your face." Thomas replied while motioning his own face. Chuck giggled in response, seeing as his minor trick failed. "It was worth a shot. Nah, I'm probable the newest kid here before you. The scouts keep getting more and more people, but it seems to happen only one at a time."

Thomas analyzed this, take them in one at a time? Scouts? "So what is this, where are we?" Thomas inquired with the stew-filled kid. Chuck looked back with a more solemn look than before, his eyes on the mow empty bowl before him.

"They don't tell me much either. But I know that we're a part of some big revolt, saving kids from experiments of things from our past." His voice was more hushed as he continued, "They don't like to talk about it really."

Thomas watched Chuck as he stared straight ahead. He started to speak but Thomas tuned him out. He watched the dining hall doors slide open, and in came Newt and someone in a similar white shirt Thomas didn't recognize; who also had so many questions. They can't expect him to stay sane with little to no knowledge about... literally everything here.

And the worst feeling he couldn't shake, is that this place was going to keep him here forever, or maybe do experiments on him; the worst thoughts flooded his mind. Most importantly, why couldn't he remember anything before he got here? He was almost the same size as most people here, he could clearly outrun them, and if he needed to, they didn't look impossible to fight. Except for maybe that Minho guy, and maybe the one that was currently walking towards him.

He approached Thomas' and Chuck's table, Newt following right behind. The guy was bald, with sharp features and a strong build. Chuck visibly straightened up, intimidated it seemed. Thomas remained with his arms crossed on the table, leaning forward, looking up at this new guy.

"Hey greenie, heard you caused us a bit of trouble

earlier. I'm Alby." He crossed his arms, his voice super deep and smooth, it normally might have calmed Thomas' nerves, but the way he furrowed his brow only made him swallow in anticipation of his next few words. Was this guy security or something? Also, Greenie? What the hell was that?

"I know you've got lots of questions," Thomas sat back, and thought 'Finally, some answers.' But realized he spoke too soon when Alby continued.

"I can't answer much now, but little steps. Trust me when I say, I'm trying to protect you." He looked back at Newt, "I know you two have met," with this, Newt chuckled, making eye contact with Thomas, hiseyes welcoming and playful. "So let us lead you around, and this time, don't run."

Thomas heaved a sigh to himself, the two men waiting for any response of compliance, and Thomas nodded his head. Standing up, they all started walking out of the dining hall.

-

The lights flickered as Alby opened the first door, using a code in a keypad. He walked in, shutting the door behind him, leaving Thomas and Newt behind.

"So, you've met chuck?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet and smiling warmly at Thomas. "Good lad that one, He's pretty new too."

Thomas nodded, "That's what he said. How old is he?"

"Honestly," the blonde's smile fell, "I don't think he remembers. We just assume 15 or something."

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, "So does nobody remember anything? I thought it was just me."

Newt shook his head, "No, nobody can remember anything after coming out of the freeze, sometimes even their own name. I didn't either." He shrugged and looked at the door Alby went into, before Thomas had any time to respond, said boy came out.

"Okay, I'm just going to show you where you sleep," he handed Thomas a bag, a backpack. "And we've got to get you a job soon."

Thomas' eyes widened, he gets to work? This place gets closer and closer to prison with every little detail he gets. Food in a big room, everyone gets frozen? And everything is locked and steel and creepy. Now he has to get a job?

They start down a corridor, florescent lights flickering above and the metal floor clanking after every step. "What are the jobs? Thomas speaks up.

"Well everyone get something different, something that you're especially good at. Me, I'm a head of this facility, and I work especially with the greenies." Alby explains, deep voice echoing through the corridor.

"I work in the same department, you could call me Boys Director, that mostly sums it up." Newt added, his accent thick.

Thomas puts aside the jobs to ask another question, "You said that earlier, greenie, what does that mean?"

Alby smirks, "It's part of our lingo here. You'll catch on soon enough. It's basically, 'Newbie.'" They have their own special words? Thomas shrugs it off.

"What am I going to do?"

Alby turns his head to look at him, "You still look a little sick from the freeze, but underneath that you look like a strong kid." Alby turns back around, "Frypan needs help with the animals, but if you're as fast as they say, maybe you'll be good as a spy."

Thomas was surprised, but once again, had so many questions. "What's the freeze? I was... frozen? By you guys?"

Newt laughed aloud, "Bloody hell, if we wanted you dead trust me, you'd definitely be dead by now."

Alby chuckled, "No, I know you don't really know what's going on, bur trust me," They approached a double door, Alby put his hand on the flat of the door and looked Thomas in the eyes, "You're safe here. Safer than anywhere else."

He pushed the doors open, revealing a room with a pungent scent, it smelled like B.O. Thomas scrunched his nose and continued to follow Newt and Alby. There were a few boys inside, hammocks were strung all around, there were speakers and beds and many bags, sleeping bags, and lots of what seemed to be collected junk around the room.

Some beds had clothes surrounding them, shoes and scraps and weapons. Knives, guns, matches, one guy even had fireworks.

Newt rushed over to that hammock and immediately confiscated those with a click of his tongue.

Thomas assumed this was like a common room, where he would probably make his home. Alby walked over to a sleeping bag that had two sets of clothes, and a small wooden toy laying on it.

"I'm gonna put you here, beside Chuck. Welcome to your new home." He dropped a set of clothes and a hammock for Thomas near Chuck's sleeping bag. "The boys love to call this the glade."

"Make yourself comfortable and whatnot, I've got some things to do. Find Newt whenever you can, and we'll get your job settled."

With that, Alby walked off.

-

Thomas was starting to get more used to everything. He had been walking around a bit, exploring with Newt and learning about how they did things here. He was apparently recovering well from 'the freeze,' which had turned out to be cryo-freezing. He had some more things revealed to him, but not enough for him to truly understand the situation. He was coming to the realization that these people are safe, well as safe as they could be. He was safe. The lingo was becoming more familiar to him. He's gotten a couple of looks and mentions of being a Greenie. And earlier he bumped into some guy with some outrageous eyebrows, that called him a shank. Whatever that meant.

Eventually he found Chuck. The two walked around a bit more, and now we're talking as they walked down a corridor.

"Eyebrows? I'm not sure what you mean..."

"They were spiky and all over the place. He looked insane is all I know."

"Hey look, its the runners area,"

Thomas looked to where Chuck was pointed. A door with the label- "Outsiders" Was there.

"That clearly says 'outsiders'" Thomas remarked

"They're called runners I think, theres a couple different branches, some spies, some supply runners, some special forces. They get to go outside a lot, a lot more than us. We barely get to leave."

Thomas peered in the small glass window, seeing a small area with a wall full of lockers. He listened to Chuck intently, and looked back as the last few words left his mouth.

"Wait we don't? At all?" His eyes widened, clear worry in his tone.

Chuck looked at him as if he should have known, "No... you didn't know?"

"Not really. But what DO I know."

"Well they get to leave, so you should try to get with them. But you've gotta be good enough"

Chuck finished, and somebody passed the small window he peered into that caught his eye, Minho.

"What does he do?" He pointed at him through the glass.

Chuck squeezed beside Thomas and looked in, seeing the muscular guy. "He's like the second in charge of all of it."

As he said that, he lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his back, his muscles were very prominent, Thomas noticed, but his back was covered in scars that made him look like he had been dragged in glass.

He backed away from the glass, not wanting to be too invasive. But that left an image in his head.

"So, are you done?" Chuck asked.

"I wanna work there." He responded, eyes glued to the ground beneath him

"Good luck."

-


	4. “18:00”

"I want to work with the Outsiders."

Thomas stood in the doorway of Newt's office area, not that it was a cubical office, but his special space. It was dark, only lit up by the fluorescent lights that had that awful little scratchy sound you could hear in only complete silence. 

Newt slowly turned around, causing the metal chair he was sitting in to squeak a little. The office was not in top shape, it seemed out of place from most of the advanced technology of the building. Some doors had keypads, some doors slid open, almost futuristic-ally. But other things, like the sleeping area, seemed like whoever constructed the room simply carved it from the ground, and lined it with concrete. 

"Are you asking for a death wish mate?" He didn't close his mouth after finishing his statement, he stared at him in disbelief. It snapped Thomas out of his thoughts of the shabby room, and Newt continued, "Not that you're incapable, but that's the most dangerous job you could have here. Do you understand what they do?"

Thomas leaned against the door frame, Newt's accent was thick, he honestly just noticed. His articulation was amazing in some words and sloppy in others. He couldn't remember much of anything, but he knew Newt had some kinda European accent. He didn't answer, thinking, and looked over his shoulder as a group of older men passed by behind him, their shoes hard against the metal floor.

He turned back around, speaking, what he seemed to not be afraid to do, "What, they get supplies? You haven't even told me what's out there. How would I know anything?" He crossed his arms. He barely asked it as a question, and almost said it more like a statement. 

"Look greenie," Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, stupid nickname it was, the blonde boy seemed to notice, "Thomas," he corrected himself, "I get it, I know this metal underground prison isn't exactly the most ideal living space. But trust me when I say its better than out there."

Newt used quite dramatic gestures when referring to the place as a 'Prison', it made Thomas feel like Newt was a little bit normal. Thomas let his head fall back, blinding himself by staring at the fluorescent lights above him. Newt continued on about some dangerous stuff outside, the risk, the torture, the bla bla bla. 

Thomas couldn't care about precautions. And if he was honest, as morbid as the thoughts were, if he died, he died. He didn't know who he was, if he had family, a lover, anything. For all he knew, they were dead too. And anyways, he wouldn't remember them. These guys, this place, was all he knew and had. And frankly, it wasn't too much to keep him there. 

He huffed, interrupting, "What do I have to do to prove myself? Alby himself said I looked good enough to be a spy." Thomas stated.

Newt smirked, "Alby isn't wrong," he stood up, looking playful, and grabbed Thomas' bicep, "You do have some meat on these bones," he gave them a squeeze. "And you outran most of us. But you're talking to the wrong guy, I don't assign jobs really."

Thomas shook Newt off of him, he didn't know if he meant that or was making fun of him. Sure, he wasn't super muscular. And he noticed a lot more of these guys had bigger muscles than he did, but he wasn't as skinny as Newt was, "Then who does?"

"That's a good question Tommy," He sat back down in his chair, returning to some junk on his table. "You kinda just gravitate to what you're good at, but outsiders get chosen by like, Alby or one of the other leaders or something.. Minho might be the guy you wanna talk to." 

"Oh yeah, the guy that sat on me." Thomas scoffed.

"He's a nice guy really," The blonde turned his back to Thomas, "Once you get to know him, the shank's good company, but he's got lip." 

"So you expect me to go talk to him? I'm sure he hates me."

The blonde laughed, "What are you scared of him? You aren't gonna klunk your pants are you?"

Thomas sighed, ignoring him. What is klunk? What if he was? He wasn't, but still. He hadn't really talked to the guy anyways, and Thomas isn't very social, he's noticed. The only person he feels slightly comfortable around is Chuck, and he seems like an underdog. "Will he tell me what's out there?"

Newt groaned, "I just might freeze you again, you ask so many damn questions." He turned around to look at the greenie again, "It's really a taboo thing around here. Nobody talks about all the hell in the world, on the outside. It's just culture here. All you need to know is, that world," He pointed in a direction, "Is not one you want to live in. We saved you from some pretty bad people Tommy. I know you want to work, and we can arrange that. For now, stay out of trouble." 

He looked at Thomas, who seemed unsatisfied, and of course he was. He might have really had a weird obsession with leaving, and asking a lot of questions. Which Thomas could only think would be normal, waking up somewhere you don't know anyone including yourself would make anyone ask questions. Right?

Newt noticed this dissatisfaction, and got up, his knees cracking as he stretched his legs once more. His shoes clanked on the metal floor as he approached him, his hand on Thomas' shoulder,

"Tommy, I mean this, I'm only looking out for you. I like you, you've got a gleam in your eyes. I know you could really be helpful, and I know it's confusing as shit. But give stuff a little time." He offered a smile, hoping to get through to Thomas. "Now get outta my bloody office."

Thomas smiled a little at that. Newt seemed different. He wasn't so policy driven, disingenuous. He seemed real, referring to the place as a prison, giving Thomas a little insight on the outside when nobody else would. Thomas thinks that maybe he has a few friends here.

-

He had a hard time telling the time in this place. There were no windows, no clocks, just the metal prison. He noticed most boys had watches, and maybe he did too. He hadn't asked, but it was probably given to him with his hammock. He's been here about three days he thinks, and he hasn't slept in said hammock since arrival.

He couldn't, every time he closed his eyes, it's like he could hear things that weren't actually there, see things that he didn't recognize, but he knew he should. It seemed familiar and so distant all at the same time. It didn't make any sense, and consequentially filled most of his nights are with dreams, if you could even call them that. They seemed too real to be dreams.

It was more like memories flashing in his mind. Something of grass and the air, sometimes of a girl, a sister maybe? He remembers smells, feels textures. He closes his eyes sometimes and can feel large hands pressing on his back, lifting his shirt up. When he opens his mouth to taste the air, he tastes what he remembers is powdered sugar, but why? He hears tires on concrete, he hears yelling, screaming, laughing, but nothing comes in full. He couldn't really pinpoint them.

He thinks if he actually slept it might all be a little clearer. Right? But did he even want to see them? The thought of remembering things from his past worried him, ignorance is bliss they say. Wouldn't that ruin everything in this life, if he were to dwell too heavily on the things of his past life?

Chuck found him sitting by his unopened hammock bag. He sat down beside him, criss-cross apple sauce.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks. Thomas rested his head against the wall, recollecting himself from his endless daydream.

"Nothing."

"Shuckin' lie that is"

"Shuckin' lie makes no sense."

"Who says?"

"Nobody does Chuckie, that's the point."

Chuck giggles, which brings a warm feeling to Thomas' chest. He thinks he probably had a friend like Chuck once, maybe that's why he feels so safe. So familiar. "You're kinda mean, and Chuckie is weird." he retorts

Thomas shakes his head, peeking one eye out, "I'm sorry your 'lost boy' lingo makes no sense." He stretched his legs out in front of him, sighing deeply. "And I like it. It fits the hair."

Chuck slapped his knee, making the older boy jump, "I'm no lost boy, you shank. And are you making fun of my curls?"

"That sounds a little better. Shank. And no, they're nice. Teach me how to do that."

With this, Thomas got up, grabbing the bag with his hammock, "But first, will you help me set this up?"

Chuck looked at him and shrugged, "I don't know why you haven't done this already. You kinda freak me out laying on the floor every night."

Thomas pulled the drawstring, which made the contents of the bag fall out. One hammock, a water bottle, and a piece of clothing which seemed to wrap around his shoulders, it had velcro pouches and zips. Huh. "I don't really sleep, do you get weird dreams too?" He became frustrated as the bottle rolled away, and straps were tangled up."I can't get thes-"

"Chuck, let me help him," A new voice chimed in, Thomas turned around to look, his eyes making contact with deep brown ones, on instinct he gripped the straps of the hammock. They weren't Chucks, and he honestly got a little worried when he realized the new boy had heard a little about Thomas' strange dreams. 

"I know we had the best of introductions, you know with me sitting on top of you, but I felt like giving myself a second chance." It was Minho. Thomas thought it seemed too coincidental that after his talk with Newt earlier, Minho seemed to come up to him. Unannounced. Hopefully Newt hadn't said anything. 

Minho had a gleam in his eyes, a playful one, and Thomas resisted every feeling of intimidation from before. Chuck looked between the pair, as Thomas failed to conjure up any response, his lips were closed, eyebrows scrunched, and he looked stupid. To be honest. He knew he did. He couldn't think of anything to say as if the guy had spoken a different language.

Chuck was about to respond, to break the silence, but Minho chimed back in, "Hey Chuck, I see Thomas didn't get a watch with his pack, can you go grab me one for our greenie?" And without giving Chuck time to respond, "Thanks man." He gave him a firm rustle of his hair, and sent him on his way.

Minho returned to Thomas, who was still standing in the same place as before, "Look I'm not gonna tackle you again, if that's what you're worried about,"he started. Thomas moved his hammock to one hand, rubbing his eyes with a fist, quite roughly, as if he were imagining they were fists that were punching him in the face.

Thomas responded bluntly, his voice cracking initially, "wOrriEd?" He cleared his throat, "Worried? I'm not worried about anything." Jesus Christ. 

He imagined yelling at himself in his mind. This guy would definitely not fucking hire him now. He held the hammock for Minho, not sure what he would say next, but he offered to help, so Thomas was going to make him help.

Minho had a smirk on his face, one hand on his hip. He was wearing brown cargo pants, stained and matching his combat shoes. He worked outside right? Thomas couldn't imagine running in those all day. He was obviously dirty, and it made Thomas wonder what they did outside. He was wearing a white tank top, a bit loose and Thomas did not notice his arms. He seemed really strong, Thomas thought maybe there was some gym in this place. Hopefully, because that would be a good way to spend his days.

He grabbed the hammock from Thomas, finally cracking a smile, and licked his top row of teeth. "You've been here for like 4 days now, you haven't set this up yet, why?"

Thomas shrugged, "I haven't really been able to sleep."

Minho walked over to the closest metal pillar, "Yeah most newbies have a hard time adjusting. But none have ran like you before. Why'd you do that, by the way?"

The brunette followed Minho, mimicking his every move. "I was trying to get out. I don't know, wait, why are you helping me right now?" Thomas shook his head, getting a little antsy with his motions.

Minho looked up from what he was doing, looking at Thomas through his hair, "You needed help with this, did you not?" He raised an eyebrow, and continued.

"Don't you have other stuff to do though?"

"How would you know, greenie?"

Thomas hated that. Greenie. He tied a knot in the rope, tight, "I have a name,"

Minho retorted, "Yeah... greenie. Also, you're not supposed to do that."

Thomas grumbled, "It's Thomas. And I can't undo it." he said defeated.

Minho sighed, clicking his tongue, "Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. See, I knew you needed my help."

Thomas squinted at him, "I'm starting to think you're more annoying than you are helpful."

"You'll get used to it." The playful boy replied, he continued to hang up his side, Thomas watched him intently, this guy. 'He's sure full of it' He thought.

Minho finished and walked over to fix Thomas' side. "Anyways, no, I don't have anything to do right now. You'd know if you had a watch, it's like 22:16 right now. All boys check in to the building around this time. Just to make sure nobody's outside or doing something else. So, I'm done for today."

Thomas crossed his arms, stepping out of the way as Minho finished setting up his bed for him. "Okay, but you still haven't said why you came to help me, specifically. And don't say it's because I needed it. I could have done this on my own."

Minho side-eyed him, "Thomas, you'll learn soon enough that you can't do anything alone here. I mean that," He finished up the hammock, "Sir Newtimus talked to me about you. I heard you wanna work outside."

Thomas stopped, his heart racing at the idea of leaving the compound, "He did? and why 'Sir Newtimus?'"

Minho chuckled, leaning against the metal pole holding up Thomas hammock, "I call him that cuz he's a delightful Brit. And yes, he did. I need a new member of our team. One of my runners has gotten sick with some shit from outside recently, so I was naturally going to go to Alby for a recruit. But I heard you were interested."

Thomas listened to Minho talk, sick? From the outside? What does a runner even do? Is Minho saying he got the job? Did he really want to do this?

"Plus, after this I'm sure you're just dying to spend more time with me." Minho finished, a smirk on his face. Thomas had already gotten used to that in these few minutes.

"Here Minho." Chuck came back, a cheap looking watch in his hands. Minho grabbed it from him, giving the boy a smile. Thomas didn't say anything, a little dumbfounded by everything Minho said, not just what he said, but how he said it. How he acted. So confident, he seemed a little arrogant. But he could tell behind the sass there was a tired boy. His eyes had bags, and it made him think of all those scratches he had seen marked up on his back a few days ago.

Minho stepped closer to Thomas, the watch in his hands, "Its a risky job, and no greenie has ever wanted to do it before. But I like you, you've got a look in your eyes."

He put his hand on Thomas' chest, open palm with the watch underneath, laying on his collarbone. He was almost past Thomas, but he turned his head looking at him in the eyes, Thomas fought to search his face, and kept eye contact as Minho spoke in a hushed voice.

"Meet me at 18:00 tomorrow. You have a watch now, so don't be late." His eyes digging into Thomas's, he let go, and walked off.

Thomas got the watch in his hands, putting it on, looking at the current time, 22:23. His heart was beating out of his chest. He was going to go outside, and this Minho guy approached him. His cheeks were flushed from that encounter. He was a little embarrassed by it all, as he knew he was unable to compose himself.

"Are you working with Minho now?" Chuck questioned, piping up from being quiet this whole time.

Thomas breathing was heavy, he looked up at Chuck and shrugged.

18:00 Tomorrow, huh.


	5. Alarm

Thomas was shaken awake in his hammock by Chuck, he wrenched his eyes open, dizzy. He was really dizzy, but a strange kind of dizzy. It was the kind of dizzy that reminded him of the day he got here, the feeling that made him want to run. Instead of repeating those events, and possibly avoiding another tackle,he took a minute to remember what his reality had become. This place, it really was his future, at least that is what he started to think.

Instead of dwelling on the drowsiness of the situation, and how trapping this place really felt, he recalled his final thoughts from the night before, before he fell asleep. He knew that they were ones of excitement, dreaming of the following day, today, where he imagined all the things he could do working outside.

At least, hopefully, that is what Minho had in mind, was to make him work for the outsiders. He recalled the seriousness in his expression from the night before as he told him when to meet him. He hadn't been here long, but he knew he hated being stuck in here. And those few moments of running away when he got here, how he felt free.

Collecting himself, and his thoughts, he began to wake himself up, and as he did, his ears started aching. His thoughts faded and reality slapped him in the face as he heard a deafening, blaring noise coming from what he assumed was an alarm system in the compound.

"They're having emergency check. Someone's missing." Chuck said to him. Thomas rubbed his eyes, mentally cursing, and swung his legs over. "Come on, we gotta hurry."

Thomas noticed that the majority of this boys sleeping area was already emptied out. Whoever was left was either just leaving or searching throughout the room for whoever was left. One of them was Alby.

He noticed he still had all of his clothes on, shoes too. He must have passed out from sheer exhaustion. Not getting any good sleep really does take a toll on you. Even so, he couldn't believe he slept through that noise. It was giving him a minor headache. Not to mention the red alarm lights flashing around. He didn't realize how hard of a sleeper he was, or could become. It only reminded him of how little he knew about himself.

As they walked Chuck voiced the other boys thoughts, "I don't know how the heck you were still sleeping."

"Me neither." Thomas answered, practically flinching at the noise.

They continued to follow the crowd through a set of hallways and corridors, each one had the sirens evenly dispersed. The noise continuing and echoing through each hallway. They didn't have to walk far though, as the sleeping area was reasonably close to the dining hall. When they arrived, the noise managed to increase, somehow. Thomas stood on his tippy-toes as he peaked over the heads of people in front of him, his eyes widening at the amount of boys there were.

He was mostly shocked at the number, not realizing how many people actually lived in this underground prison, but also because he didn't see any girls. They probably kept them separately, right? Most of the boys were teenagers and young adults, mixing a bunch of girls up would result in a lot of trouble probably. Plus, he remembered that girl when he woke up. Terry? Or something? There were girls.

He felt someone grab him by the shoulder from behind, he flinched on the contact, but heard a voice in his ear say something along the lines of, "Check... be still." So he did as he was told, and felt a cold piece of plastic press against his neck. And as soon as it came, it went away.

He looked over at Chuck to ask what that was, but saw the same thing was happening to him. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Chuck mirrored his confusion as a dark slender boy pressed a device against the back of the curly boys head, and it flashed blue when it seemed to be done and over with.

After seeing this, as if on instinct, Thomas lifted his hand up to the back of his neck, feeling around for something there, something of interest. But he couldn't really feel anything, he pressed his fingers into his neck, hoping something was there, but to no avail. Did these guys chip him?

Chuck said something to Thomas, but honestly he didn't stand a chance at being heard over all of this noise. His voice was too chirpy anyways. Some of these guys looked like almost thirty, and their voices bellowed over his. Not to mention that fucking siren.

Thomas scooted closer to Chuck, staring up at the ceiling, when a gunshot sounded. Thomas shrunk in reaction to the noise, his heart racing, and his adrenaline ready to have his legs take him to the opposite end of this place if needed.

After the gunshot rang out, the boys quieted down, but unlike Thomas didn't shrink, was this a common thing they did? 'I mean come on, was there no other option...jeez.'

On the serving line of the dining hall, Alby stood with four other boys. One was Newt, the other three he hadn't seen before. The alarm continued to ring out as the only noise being made in the compound. He managed to get everyone's attention, that's for sure.

Now that Thomas was looking around, there honestly didn't seem to be as many guys as he thought there were. Maybe like 100-150? But what did he know honestly. There could be like 50 compounds attached to this one, or multiple floors. He knew next-to-nothing about this place.

Before Alby began to speak, the guy that came up to him from before with that scanning device, handed it off to Alby, who handed it to Newt, who handed it to some other guy.

"Alright everyone, I need your attention. I know you guys just love to be woken up this early in the morning, but it seems someone left."

Left? Like ran away? Thomas crossed his arms, scanning the room, and eventually his eyes landing on Minho, who hung his head, running his hand through his hair, which feathered out as he did so. He looked back at Alby, as him and Newt looked out among the group of boys in the utmost seriousness.

Alby continues, "And y'all know how bad this could be. In fact, you should know how bad this is. We don't have many rules here, but one of them is, you never, ever leave the glade. There are two," he held up two fingers and repeated himself, "And only two reasons for which you are able to go outside."

As Alby continued on, all of the gladers noticed the alarm system went off. Newt grinned and muttered something like, 'thank bloody hell that's over' in response, igniting a few chuckles from the crowd.

Thomas looked at Chuck, who looked back at Thomas and shook his head with a grin. Poor kid looked really tired. Thomas didn't even know what time it was, but he realized he could check his watch, "04:00". It really was early.

"One, you work with the outsiders. And they know, to be back in here at the right time. I can speak on behalf of all the different divisions and their respective leaders when I say that they know when they are to be back." Alby spoke firm, his voice echoing through the dining area. It honestly chilled Thomas' bones.

"And two, the only other reason, is if you have a death wish."

Thomas was taken aback. He thought there was an actual second reason. He looked back over to where Minho was before, to no avail. He seemed to be gone. Probably still in the room, but who knew. He realized he wasn't paying attention to the speech anymore.

"-Because of this incident, I regret to inform, but all outsiders work will be put on lock-down for the next 48 hours. We cannot afford to-" He continued on, as a bunch of the gladers, which he assumed by now that's what they were called. (He still hated the lingo) groaned in response.

"Chuck, why did he put them on lock-down? Wasn't paying attention." Thomas asked, Chuck rolled his eyes.

"Ben went missing."

Thomas leaned over, not wanting to draw attention to himself, and tried to remain at a low whisper. The room seemed much quieter now that the alarm was off, and any noise stood out a lot more. "And who's that?"

"He went outside. Not sure, he was kinda quiet. Maybe, I didn't know him too well. Blonde, scruffy looking shank." Chuck responded, maintaining his gaze with Alby the whole time.

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he felt a hand grab him by the wrist. His eyes widened, he looked up to Chuck, who was completely oblivious, before being yanked away.

The hand that grabbed his wrist was tight, strong, and tanned. Thomas was too shaken up by it to fight back, and he was being dragged through the crowd of boys, earning some sour words from the group. Nonetheless, he dodged his way through, continuing to be yanked by this kidnapper of his.

They reached the edge of the crowd. And the man turned around, Minho.

Minho pulled the other boy closer, closer than Thomas could comprehend, he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke in a whisper,

"I've got to be quick, technically we could get punished for this, are you in?"

Thomas eyes widened, looking down at his wrist which was still being held by the other boy, looking back up, he gulped, "Am I in? In what?"

Minho saw the look he gave, and let go, "I need you to help me, can't explain much right now, but we have to go before we are seen leaving."

Time seemed to slow as Thomas searched the boys eyes for anything; how could he blindly trust someone he barely knew when there could be serious consequences? He didn't know these guys, didn't know what they were capable of doing to him, and what reason did he have to trust any of them anyways? As of this moment, only Chuck gave him answers on anything at all.

Minho's eyes were wide, waiting for an answer, Thomas searched his face, finding his lips parted and breath fast; He flicked his eyes back to the other boys gaze, trying not to stare. 

'Fuck it.'He thought.

"Okay, let's go."

Minho bit his bottom lip in an excited smile. "Great. Follow me."

____________________________________

Minho had snuck Thomas out of the assembly; checking his watch, it read "04:29" They had been running around the compound, not sure where he was being lead.

They had approached many unfamiliar areas, and finally ended up at a locked door. He had seen Minho through this one before. A sign beside it read, 'Outsiders' Thomas had seen this before.

"I'm going to get some gear for you." Minho stated as he fumbled with the keys to the door. There was a touchpad, notably, but he wasn't using it for whatever reason.

As if Minho could read his mind, he said, "If i use the keypad they'll know I went out this early. It tracks who opens the door and when."

Thomas looked to either side of him, checking down the hallway in case of any suspects. Though he wasn't completely sure what was happening, the way Minho acted made it seem what they were doing was wrong. And, well he did tell him there could be serious consequences. He hadn't been here long, and getting a bad reputation wouldn't be the best. But something about Minho sparked Thomas's curiosity. Maybe Minho was a bar influence on him. Did he care?

"Come on." Minho gestured to Thomas, the door open and the older boy already in. Thomas shook his thoughts away and stepped in following.

The room was dark, noiseless, and from what Thomas could see, it had a short ceiling. But he didn't get to look long, because as the door behind him eased shut, Minho pushed him up against it. His face was barely visible, only being illuminated by the lights in the corridor they just left. He could see his dark brown eyes, and a finger was on his lips, telling him to 'Shh'.

Thomas took note of his forearm pressed against his chest, his face too close to Thomas for him to feel comfortable with anymore. Thomas hands were splayed on the door, his breathing completely stopped. And, shamefully, he felt his face blush a bright red as his adrenaline kicked in, (and maybe at the way Minho pressed him up against the door. But he wouldn't admit that.)

The runner had his eyes closed, and Thomas couldn't read them, he seemed to be listening for something, was somebody already in here?

His eyes opened and met Thomas', who couldn't do anything but look back, his whole body stiff under the older boys assertive gaze. He fought every urge in his body to look anywhere else on his face.

Thankfully, before Thomas' cracked, Minho eased off of him, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. "I'm just screwin' with you. There's nothing. You should see your face, I got you blushing like a little girl."

Thomas furrowed his brows, "Funny." A little annoyed, and really confused at what just happened.

His heart was pounding, but he convinced himself it was because he was scared of whatever Minho was pretending to hide from. He also ignored the fact he hadn't breathed the entire time under Minho's touch.

Regardless, the black haired boy ignored the others obvious embarrassment, and grabbed a couple of things out of some old lockers.

"Anyways, here, some things you're gonna need," He handed the younger boy a bag and some jacket-like thing to wear, "Do you know how to use a gun?"

Thomas eyes widened as he accepted his gifts, "What?"

Minho didn't respond, just smirked. 'Stupid smirk.' Thomas thought.

"I've never, well, as far as I know- I can't remember much about me-" He stumbled over his words trying to gather his thoughts,

Minho interrupted him, "Did I make you that nervous? It's okay Tommy, nobody remembers anything."

His eyes met Thomas' in a teasing gaze, but Thomas sensed some sympathy. This guy was confusing, and frustrating.

"You didn't make me nervous."

"The blush says otherwise."

Thomas wiped his face with his hands, trying to rub it off. He didn't see it coming. How was he supposed to?

"Wouldn't anybody blush after that?" He asked, shrugging on the gear, and inspecting every piece of it.

Minho considered the thought, and tying up his shoes on a bench responded with, "You've got a point. I am incredibly handsome."

Thomas scoffed, making Minho chuckle, the latter walked towards him, looking him up and down

"Tommy is a stupid nickname."

Ignoring him; Minho replied, "You've got it on backwards." pointing to the vest.

Thomas groaned, taking off the vest and turning it around, it felt much better this way anyways.

"Hey so care to explain what we're doing? and why me?" He questioned.

Minho didn't look up, he only checked for some final supplies around the room, and also seemed to be searching for something else.

He turned around at the question, deciding to be blunt with the greenie.

"We're gonna go find Ben."

k

soggy


End file.
